


the missing pieces of my heart, they finally collide

by amyscascadingtabs



Series: the santiago-peralta family stories [7]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Babies, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Parenthood, this fic was nicknamed sockfic while i wrote it, you'll see why - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-27 09:51:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18736651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyscascadingtabs/pseuds/amyscascadingtabs
Summary: The socks are the smallest thing he has ever seen.Jake isn’t exactly sure how he ended up having a low-key freakout in the middle of the day at an H&M, but he figures there is a first for everything - public meltdowns over impending fatherhood included.(In which Jake is scared of fatherhood and baby socks are really,reallytiny.)





	the missing pieces of my heart, they finally collide

**Author's Note:**

> hi. i'm so freaking tired, i don't know why i'm publishing this instead of going to bed.
> 
> i started writing this after casecation and it's taken a long time because i'm also trying to graduate high school. it's stressful. thinking about jake and amy with babies, however, is a GREAT coping mechanism. 
> 
> title from one of my best peraltiago and love songs, sad song by we the kings.

**april**

 

The socks are the smallest thing he has ever seen.

 

Jake isn’t exactly sure how he ended up having a low-key freakout in the middle of the day at an H&M, but he figures there is a first for everything - public meltdowns over impending fatherhood included.

 

He _has_ been doing well with his fears since they found out about Amy being pregnant. He didn’t panic when she showed him the beginning of her pregnancy binder. He stayed calm at their first visit to the obstetrician. He did shed a tear when they got to hear a loud and strong heartbeat and see a tiny, white, moving blur that’s supposedly their baby on a screen for the first time, but in his defense, Amy cried more.

 

They're having a kid now, and he's ready; as ready as he feels he can be at this point. Come early December this year, he'll be saying farewell to full nights of sleep, double shifts at work and watching all the movies for adults and teens he can think of.

 

It’s a guarded excitement. For now, it’s this humongous secret they carry around, trying to explain away their absence at Shaw’s nights and why it looks like Amy’s always about five seconds from either throwing up or falling asleep, without revealing the truth just yet. At the same time, it’s the knowledge their lives are about to be forever changed, and it’s equal shares thrilling and petrifying.

 

They’ve known for three weeks, which is not a lot of time - Jake has eaten older lunches from the precinct’s fridge at least twice - but already he’s spent oceans of time thinking about it. It just so happens that when he’s not doing everything to take care of his exhausted, nauseous, and emotional wife, his thoughts circle back to the monochrome sonogram picture and the indescribable, undiluted love building inside him whenever he looks at it in his phone gallery.

 

He’s excited, but he’s never been more scared in his life. He’s worried about miscarriages and diseases and complications and how there’s such a thing as sudden infant death where a baby can straight-up _die_ without any explanation. He’s scared of doing too much and not doing enough and he’s helplessly scared of becoming his own father, and so far the only person he can talk about it with is Amy. The problem is he doesn’t want to bother her with his asinine fears; he’s sure that reminding her of all the terrible things he’s learned can happen will do more harm than good, plus she’s exhausted all the time now and would likely fall asleep in the middle of the conversation. He finds it endearing how she’ll fight to keep her eyes open before falling asleep next to him on the couch, but she’s become pretty much worthless in any conversation longer than three minutes. Consequently, Jake’s keeping his fears to himself for now, taking deep breaths and hovering with his thumb over the number to the shrink he had a series of appointments with a year ago.

 

He takes it one day at a time. It’s what he tells Amy to do when she complains about feeling too sick and miserable to appreciate anything, so he figures he might as well follow his own advice. He handles things to the best of his ability, trudges his way through a few pages in his copy of _The Expectant Father: The Ultimate Guide For Dads-To-Be_ when Amy falls asleep, and every Wednesday there is a new fruit or vegetable comparison available on the pregnancy app he’s downloaded. This week, their baby is the size of a raspberry, so naturally he bought two jars of them when he stopped by the fruit seller earlier in the day.

(“Are you going to do this for every week?” His wife had asked with a curious gleam to her eyes as he made her company while she ate a late, bland breakfast.

“Only for the fruits I actually like," he’d told her, and she'd laughed before accepting a few of the berries he held out to her.)

 

The original agenda for their Saturday was to run errands together, but Amy's had a long week already without enough time to rest. A pregnancy podcast he listened to yesterday told him that rest is crucial if you're pregnant, so Jake promptly instructed his wife to spend her day on the couch while he completed their to-do-list on his own. Her grateful smile when he handed her their best fluffy blanket and made her a cup of green lemon tea before leaving told him he made the right choice.

 

So far, he’s mailed a gift for Amy's great-aunt, left a carpet at the dry cleaner and picked up more of his wife’s favorite pink grapefruit shower gel. He’s also informed Amy of all this via Snapchat, using the most ridiculous filters he could find to put a smile on her lips and received equally hilarious pictures back. The last errand before food shopping is _H &M _ ; one of his best navy hoodies caught on fire at work last week, and Jake can’t risk being out of a hoodie - the world could collapse for less. He finds one that seems decent and is about to go pay for it when he catches sight of the neon sign from the corner of his eye.  
  
_BABY, 0-12 MONTHS._

 

They’ve agreed not to start buying clothes for a few more weeks. Even window-shopping for them without Amy feels like cheating, yet it's as if a gravitational force is pulling him towards the newborn clothing section. _Just to have a look_ , he defends it to himself as he enters it.

 

All the clothes are tiny.

All the clothes are overwhelmingly tiny, too much for him to take in even though he’s not sure what he expected. He walks around in a daze, eventually coming to a stop at a shelf with baby socks. Right in front of him hangs a grey-and-white two-pack with writing on them - the white pair says _I ♥️ MUM,_ and the grey pair _I ♥️ DAD_.

 

That’s when Jake loses it.

 

Up until this point, he hasn’t cried. There was the single tear at their first ultrasound, the one he’s not counting in comparison to Amy’s flood of them, but aside from that? No crying. He’s held it together like the responsible dad and family man he’s going to have to become in about seven months, but he runs his finger over the soft cotton blend stuck to a piece of white cardboard, and a stubborn tear trails down his cheek. Then another, and another, bringing with them panicked breathing and a sensation of walls closing in on him.

 

He’s going to be a _dad_. He’s going to have partial responsibility for a miniature human at least up until the day they turn eighteen years old. He knows what a good dad is from watching Terry and Charles and even Holt, but he lacks all perception when it comes to the question of whether he knows how to be one.

There will be a whole new person in his world, demanding his attention, love, and care. He’s going to make mistakes and have to hope what he’ll do right will be enough to outweigh them. He’s excited but he’s scared and he’s scared but he’s excited - the two keep conflicting, and he’s never certain which is stronger. He’s not sure it matters when he’s standing in a clothing store, unable to make himself stop panic-breathing and crying as he clutches the two-pack of unfathomably minuscule socks.

 

“Sir? Sir, I’m sorry, but are you okay?” A warm hand touches his shoulder through the leather jacket, and he spins around to find a tan-skinned, round-cheeked young woman with dark curls and an employee tag in a red lanyard around her neck. She’s giving him a worried look, and he blushes with instant embarrassment.

“Yeah, yeah.” He snivels, wiping a few tears on the sleeve of his jacket. “Sorry.”

“That’s okay," she assures him, though it sounds tentative. A wave of guilt crashes over him as he realizes how terrible a customer she must find him; no retail employee can want to spend their underpaid hours comforting crying strangers. “Has something happened?”

“They’re so _small_ ," Jake mumbles, and she raises an eyebrow, so he clarifies. “The socks.”

“They’re for babies.”

“I know.”

“So… they’re supposed to be small.”

“I _know_.”

“Then what’s the issue here?”

“I’m going to be a dad," he blurts out to her, realizing it's the first time he's said the words out loud. They feel foreign, like he's speaking from the perspective of another stellar undercover personality he just made up, but easier than he expected them to. “This December. My wife and I are having a baby.”

The employee smiles at him. “Aww! Congratulations. That’s amazing.”

“It is," he admits. “I’m really happy about it. But you know, it’s this huge responsibility. I suck at being responsible and I had a crappy dad.” Jake grimaces. “Like, seriously, the crappiest. Mayor of Craptown in the country of Crappy Dads.”

“You're scared you'll suck at it, too?” He nods, and she shakes her head, shrugging. “You probably won't. Lots of mediocre guys have kids that grow up perfectly fine.”

“I… thanks?”

“If you ask me," she continues, “the fact that you’re scared just means you want to do a good job. If you want to do a good job, I’m pretty sure that means you love your kid. Put those two together and you have a solid basis.”

 

Her comment makes Jake's mind flick back to the moment with Amy in the hospital lobby after his negotiation with Pam. He’d realized then how maybe fear could, in the end, be the key to guaranteeing he _would_ do a good job. Trusting said realization is another thing entirely - but he wants to, and he tries to.

 

He clears his throat. “I do love my kid. I mean, I barely know them yet and I love them already. It doesn't even make sense.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll be okay.”

“Do you have kids, or…?”

She gives him an honest chortle before shaking her head again. “I have a cat, though.”

“Ah.”

“Are you going to buy those socks, by the way? Not to be a jerk, but I feel like you crying on them means you gotta buy them.”

“... yeah. Yeah, I’ll buy them.”

 

He leaves the store feeling equal parts humiliated and relieved, painfully aware he owes Amy an explanation for buying the first item of clothing for their baby without her, but somehow, he leaves it feeling better.

 

(He tells Amy about his breakdown when he gets home. The next day, he goes back to leave a handwritten thank-you-note for the friendly employee.)

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**october**

 

Her clothes are the smallest thing he’s ever seen.

 

With eight weeks left to the due date, Jake is getting used to the thought of what’s to come. The arrival of their daughter - they’re having a _daughter_ , his intuition is better than Amy’s - is fast approaching, and if it wasn’t clear enough to him from the close to finished nursery in their apartment and the stroller on its way to them, Charles now has a daily countdown on his phone.

(“64 days today," had been his greeting yesterday, and Jake couldn’t even bring himself to be annoyed.)

 

He struggles to determine whether he feels _ready_ , but he does feel prepared, which makes the worries easier to live with. Amy made them a Type-A-style preparation checklist the day she entered her twelfth week of pregnancy, and though Jake found it excessive at first, he knows they wouldn't have survived without it. Not only have they researched and purchased everything an infant could possibly need in terms of material things and watched four informative documentaries together, but he’s also read two and a half books about babies and parenthood and gone to a _class_ in parenting. It turned out to be one of the weirdest experiences of his life, but at least it made him a self-proclaimed master in the art of holding a fake baby doll correctly.

 

His excitement is genuine now - no longer clouded beneath the veil of apprehension and nervousness it once was. It's impossible not to feel excited when every night, he'll curl up next to Amy on the couch and simply talk to their baby, drawing lazy patterns with his fingers on her bump until he's able to feel a foot or an arm, their kid kicking and pressing and doing somersaults at the sound of his voice. When he's unsure what to talk about, he’ll read Harry Potter or play Taylor Swift to his unborn daughter. _Style_ , so far, appears to be her favorite.

 

The nursery has only a few last touches left to it before it’s fully ready. This week, they’re spending their Saturday dealing with one of them and sorting out their kid’s collection of clothes. It's turned out to be a project for a full day - first washing everything with hypoallergenic laundry detergent, then letting each item hang to dry, then folding, sorting and placing everything in the dresser. Jake’s been staring at newborn clothes for hours on end, and he still can't fathom how small they are.

 

He's seen them before, of course. He was there to buy most of them and has marveled over everything from the tiny hats to the Harry Potter-onesies to the red-and-black-checkered baby flannel Amy found, several times already. It doesn't seem to help; for each colorful item with animals, stripes or bright colors he folds and places in its correct pile, he's reminded _his kid_ will be wearing these clothes. Once the initial sparks of excitement fade, the waves of fear he thought he was free of engulf him anew.

 

It's the fear he's felt each time he's been held at gunpoint, except he's no longer fearing for his own life but for his child’s. He fears something terrible will happen to them which he won't be able to stop and he fears he will be the cause of it. It's the fear that reappears at odd occasions, submerging him in nightmare scenarios of long-time undercover operations only he can execute. He fears death threats forcing him into witness protection. It's the fear where he imagines a five-year-old with Amy's nose and dark hair standing in front of him with crossed arms and downcast eyes asking where he's been for the last weeks, and then Amy's there as well asking the same thing. He fears having no better answer to give than _I got too wrapped up wanting to solve a case again, I forgot to come home_.

 

Though he’ll do everything in his power to be a good parent, there’s an inevitable risk he’ll fail. It shakes him and it haunts him and seems to paralyze him right then and there.

 

“Babe?” Amy’s voice, calm but suspecting, helps him snap out of it. He looks up from the mint-green onesie with smiling clouds he’s holding to find her watching him with worried advertence.  “You zoned out.”

“Sorry, Ames. You were saying?”

“Oh, just about the car seat.” She nods in the direction of a carton box near the door. “I was thinking we should install it tomorrow.”

“Car seat. Great. That’s cool," he mumbles in an attempt to fake normalcy and steer the conversation away from his looming meltdown. “Cool, cool, cool.”

“Jake.”

“I’m fine.”

Amy rolls her eyes at that, shuffling a few inches closer to him on the long-pile rug with what little gracefulness she can manage. “Clearly not. Come on, you can talk to me.”

“You don’t have to listen," he assures her, but she shakes her head.

“I already am. Wanna tell me what’s up?”

 

The words stagger on the tip of his tongue, faltering before he figures out how to express them.

“It's the same things. Same fears as before.”

“Do you need to talk about them?”

He does, to some extent, but she's heard his panicked thoughts before and helped him through them what feels like a million times. His eight months pregnant wife deserves better than listening to his preposterous fears when they're supposed to be folding clothes.

“I don't want to bother you," he excuses himself.

Amy glares at him in reaction. It’s the glare reserved for when one of her uniformed officers makes a detrimental mistake, or he tells her he thinks they might be ordering too much Polish food, wordlessly telling him he's made a mistake.

“I think I can handle it," she says. “Do you _want_ to talk about them?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” She nods, putting a pair of newborn-size white pajamas with red hearts in the sleepwear pile and holding his left hand in hers. Their fingers intertwine, wedding rings next to one another. “Go ahead. I’m listening.”

 

There’s guilt as he rambles to her about equally unlikely scenarios and the fears he was supposed to have let go of by now. He’d meant it when he said he felt ready a little over a year ago, and he loves and wants the child that gets the hiccups in the middle of her parents’ conversation _so much,_ which he assures Amy of in about every other sentence. The fear doesn't take away from the love, but it makes it feel more inaccessible at times, harder to reach behind the dense fog of anxiety. Jake detests that feeling. He wants to love this child without the overpowering fear, wants to feel the excitement he’s gotten used to always, and most of all, he doesn’t want to have to doubt himself each and every second of each day.

 

Amy’s silent while she listens. She doesn’t utter a word until she’s sure he’s finished, catching his breath from the anxiety and fast-paced talking. Instead, she hugs him from the side, letting him rest his head on her shoulder while he slowly returns to a calmer peace of mind.

 

“I just don’t want you to think I’m not excited," he whispers once he can speak again.

“I see your face every time she kicks when you talk to her," she replies matter-of-factly, guiding his right hand to rest high up on her belly where the hiccups have calmed down only to be replaced with stubborn kicking. The corners of his mouth twitch into a grin, and he laughs at the timing. “No one could ever see that and think you’re not excited.”

“I know.” He sighs. “But I’m not doing anything right now, it’s all you. The moment she’s here, it’ll be different. What if I don’t know what to do?”

“You know what to do, you’re practically Santiago-level-prepared at this point.”

“What if I blank?”

“You won’t blank.”

“What if?”

“Jake.”

“I know, I know.” A metallic taste in his mouth makes him realize he’s bleeding, having bitten too hard on his lip. “You have total faith in me and all that.”

“You’re saying it like you think I don't mean it," she points out, eyes narrowed. “I do have total faith in you, because I know you and would never have agreed to have this baby with you if I didn't trust you could handle it.”

“I’m scared, though. I thought I wouldn’t be scared at this point, but it’s still there.”

“So am I. So is everyone who's ever been a parent.” There’s a small smile on Amy’s lips as she reaches for a pair of socks from the pile of them. “I think it’s part of it.”

“It’s the worst part," he argues, and she lets out a short laugh.

“Maybe it is. I guess we’ll just have to see if it’s worth it.” She hands him the socks, and he can’t help but beam as he recognizes them.

 

They’re light grey and impossibly tiny,  with _I ♥️ DAD_ printed on them in capital letters. It’s the very first item of clothing he bought for his child, having been made to purchase them ensuing his breakdown in an H&M store five long months ago. He’d nearly forgotten about them, but he holds them in his hands now, wondering how on earth an item smaller than his palm could ever fit a living person.

“That’s true, you know," Amy tells him in a quiet voice. He looks up to find her eyes glistening, but she wipes the threatening tears away before they fall this time. “She’s going to love you so much. She already does.”

“How can you know?”

“For one, she goes absolutely nuts when you're talking.” Amy shakes her head, grinning fondly. “Even if you’re not physically there. Like last week, when you left that message about being on your way home. I listened to it on speaker and she started kicking me in the ribs. She's getting strong now, so it _hurts_.”

He laughs, blushing. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be. It's super cute, and it totally gets my dumb, hormone-fuelled emotions every time.”

She leans slightly forward and he takes the hint, letting go of the disarmingly cute socks to lock lips with his wife. It's short and perhaps not the most passionate of kisses, quickly interrupted the moment Amy gets too out of breath, but it lasts long enough for him to enjoy the feel of her lips against his, the softness of her skin as he cups her face.

 

“I love you," he declares when they break apart. The socks are next to his knees on the violet carpet and he picks them up again, smiling to himself as he places them on top of Amy's bump. “Both of you.”

“Well, cheeseball, we both love you back. You're a lucky guy.”

“I am. I really, really am.”

 

(The fear refuses to disappear altogether, but it stays under control for the rest of the wait. By the time Amy’s contractions start five weeks later, Jake's all excitement and little anything else.)

 

* * *

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**november**

 

His daughter is the smallest thing he’s ever seen.

 

Person, he corrects himself. She's a person, a whole little individual with ten fingers and ten toes and a full head of dark hair, and she’s managed to utterly and completely steal his heart in the forty-three hours she’s spent out in the world.

 

Leah Rose Charlotte Santiago-Peralta _is_ marginally smaller than the average newborn, thanks to her just over three weeks early arrival, but she’s perfectly healthy and strong. After two nights at the hospital, the new family is cleared to go home.

 

Jake has his first minor freakout post Leah’s birth when the doctor tells them. He’ll have to drive, which means there’s an atomic but existing risk they’ll crash. Once they go home, there will be no more friendly nurses to help, no more surprisingly excellent coffee machines in the communal kitchen, and no more red buttons next to the bed they can press if they panic. They’ll be on their own in their mission of keeping a helpless infant alive, and Jake’s not sure he’s ready.

 

He looks over at Amy to where she’s propped up in the hospital bed feeding their daughter and opens his mouth to communicate this, but he changes his mind once he sees them. With Amy’s gratified smile overpowering the bags under her eyes and with Leah’s content suckling noises, there’s no doubt whatsoever.

He’s ready. He’s always been ready for them.

 

Leah cries when they fasten her in the car seat. There’s a fleeting moment where he worries the drive will be a twenty-minute crying party, but she passes out the second the car starts moving and sleeps through her first car ride like it’s no big deal. She continues sleeping through her first ride up the building’s elevator, and snoozes through being carried over the doorstep into their apartment.

 

“Welcome home, Lee," he tells her as they enter, hospital bags in tow. “You too, Ames.”

“Thanks," Amy mumbles.“It feels nice.”

He nods, leaving their bags on the living room floor for later unpacking as he helps her unfasten Leah in the seat. “You feeling okay, babe?”

“I guess," she shrugs. “I’d kill for a proper shower, though.”

“So go take one.”

She hesitates, observing him closely as if she’s searching for something. “Are you sure? I can stay with you if you don’t want to be alone with her for too long, I know you think it’s scary - “

“Ames.” He places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “You can take a shower. You can take a long shower if you want to, because god knows you deserve it. Need it, even.”

“That’s hurtful.”

“Go take that shower," he repeats, kissing her forehead. “Lee and I will be okay.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay, then.” She kisses first Leah’s, then his cheek, and squeezes his hand one last time before heading towards their bathroom. “Have a good father-daughter bonding time. Kick it off with a diaper change, will you?”

 

“This isn't my favorite part," Jake informs his daughter as she starts waking up on the changing table, grunting when he has to take off the cozy, white overall they brought her home in. “I’m not sure it’s anyone’s. I’ll do it for you, though.”

He promised himself after seeing Amy go through twenty-six hours of torturous pain that he'd do all the changes he could for the first weeks. So far he's sticking to it; it’s not the most enjoyable of experiences, but it's simple and straightforward enough for him to feel like he's mastering it with some proficiency.

“So," he narrates while he navigates his mission. “This is going pretty well. We're doing good, Lee.”

She eyes him with skepticism, letting out a few whimpers before they’re done, but he keeps his calm and draws a breath of relief when she doesn’t start crying.

“See? We did it.” He holds her little hands, waving them like she’s the one doing it. “We’re just going to get you a new pair of pajamas and we’ll be all set.”

 

It’s the first time he’s dressing her without Amy’s input. Seeing how he technically has the freedom to put their daughter in a Die Hard-onesie and varicolored leggings, Jake considers it a mature use of his power when he opts for white pajamas with a pink rose print and a regular pair of grey socks.

He figures they’re a regular pair, at least. He realizes otherwise when he unrolls them to find the familiar _I ♥️ DAD_ -print on them. They bring a smile to his lips as he thinks back to when he bought them, back when no one knew their secret yet, and he was scared out of his mind he wouldn’t be able to do the exact thing he’s doing now.

 

He puts the socks on Leah’s feet, shaking his head at how the itty-bitty clothing items are still almost too large for her. He has to roll the socks up so they’ll stay on, but they work, and the result is possibly the most endearing thing he’s seen. He snaps a few shots with his phone - it’s lucky he upgraded its storage, because he’s already taken enough photos to fill a museum of baby pictures - and then kisses Leah’s forehead, lifting her so she’s held against his chest as he carries her out to the living room and sinks down on the couch.

 

He must have been on this couch nearly a thousand times. From pre-relationship Thanksgiving dinners to early dates to countless movie nights on this particular piece of furniture, a substantial part of all the hours Jake's ever spent at home with Amy has been focused to the off-white seats. He's had makeout sessions, sleepless nights and lengthy discussions on it, but it's the first time he hangs out with his daughter there.

 

He must say she seems pretty chill about everything new so far. She lays against his legs without complaint, and he watches her as she blinks and yawns, waving and kicking her limbs with intermittent, jerky movements.

“Cool to have this much space, huh? Must've been pretty cramped in your first living quarters," he comments on her stretches. “I can't believe we have you here already. I mean, _I_ figured you'd be early because of those Santiago genes, but your mom convinced me not to get my hopes up.”

“I kind of knew, though," he adds, holding her tiny feet through the socks. “I had a feeling. This is when you say _yeah, dad, you were totally right, you're the smartest_.”

Leah makes little bubbling noises with her lips in response. Jake decides to interpret them as an agreement.

 

The shower stops running in the background. He figures this means Amy should be back soon, but for now he has some remaining alone time to enjoy with his daughter. He's in the exact situation he was scared for his life to even think about six months ago, the only one in charge if Leah starts wailing uncontrollably or stops breathing or some other nightmare scenario, but for some reason, he's not panicking.

He's calm. Somehow, he thinks she's the secret.

 

“I'm still a bit nervous, you know," he tells her while she keeps up her squirming. Every now and then she squints at him like she’s trying to make out the details of his face, looking adorably skeptical. “I know what it’s like to have a crappy parent, and I’m scared of becoming one. I probably will be for a long time, but… I’m starting to think it’s going to be okay.”

He has to take a break before he keeps talking, taking a deep breath to compose himself.

“I’m going to try my best, always. Every single day. I’ll probably fail a whole bunch, but I’m always going to try. For you.”

Leah accidentally punches herself in the face with one of her fists as he says the last words, making herself gasp in confusion and Jake laugh.

“I promise," he adds with a careful grip of her tiny hands, nudging at one fist with his pinkie until her fingers close around it. “I’m not going to leave you, ever.”

 

It’s a dicey promise to make for someone with his profession. Too many times in his career, he’s had to pack his things and leave everything behind for reasons far beyond his control, and he’s known for getting so sucked into a case he’ll forget to eat and sleep and go home for days on end. Neither of these factors are compatible with having and raising children, and while he can’t really control whether any mafia bosses will force him to go into hiding soon, Jake knows he’s picked up his last double shift for a long, long while. He has almost all of the next month off to learn how to be a family with his wife and daughter, and even after he returns to work, the shifts will be fewer and somewhat shorter.

Four years ago it would’ve been agony. Now, he couldn’t be more excited.

 

He’s going to watch his daughter grow up and become the coolest little person in the Universe, and he gets to do it all with the love of his life. It’s a nonpareil joy, and he wants to describe it all in words to Leah, but he’s sleep-deprived and overtired and ever-so-slightly worried it’d be the factor to finally bring him to tears, so he starts humming _Hedwig’s Theme_ to the newborn instead.

 

“Oh, man.” He notices Amy’s presence first when he hears her sniffle and sees her shake her head as she sits down next to them. Her hair is blow-dried and she’s changed into grey pajama pants and a tank-top, completing the outfit with a blue hoodie identical to his own. He suspects both the pants and hoodie are originally his, but when it comes to stopping her from stealing his clothes, he lost the battle a long time ago.“I was so proud of myself for not having cried yet today, and then you go ruin it.”

“I mean," he grins, giving her an amused look. “Is making you cry really that much of an achievement right now?”

“Don’t try me," she warns him and dabs at her eyes with the sleeves of her hoodie. “You wouldn’t last an hour with these hormones. Or any other part of it.”

“Fair judgment.”

“Yeah.” Leah’s begun to whimper again, puckering her lips at the sound of Amy’s voice. “You want to give her over? I think she's hungry.”

“Do you magically sense that or something?” He transfers his daughter over to his wife, gently as if she’d been made of crystal glass.

“My boobs feel like stone, does that count?”

“Ah.”

“Trust me, they're not the worst thing.” Jake grimaces, and Amy laughs at his reaction while she adjusts herself, a couple of pillows and Leah to a comfortable position. “Giving birth is a nightmare.”

“Sorry you had to," he says, scooching closer so he reaches to put his arm around her shoulders. “You were incredible, if it's any consolation.”

“Thank you.” She whispers the words without looking at him. Her gaze is locked on Leah, pure admiration lighting up her face while she watches the newborn eat. “I see you chose her socks.”

“She looks cute, right? I think they suit her.”

“She's wearing the mom-ones tomorrow," Amy states. “And she’s always cute, but yes. They suit her.”

 

As intense of an effort as it is to divert his attention from the newborn, Jake’s growling stomach eventually reminds him they haven’t eaten since lunch. Pizza seems as good a celebration as any after three days of hospital food, he decides, and manages to finish their order and end the call right when Leah finishes eating.

“I can take her," he offers, and Amy gently transfers the girl back, helping him hold her so that her chin rests on his shoulder.

“You look like such a dad.” Amy laughs. “It’s a good look on you.”

“I _am_ a dad," he corrects her, and she smiles wide.

“You are. How do you feel about it?”

“I don’t know," he confesses. “Happy and nervous. She’s the greatest thing in the world, clearly, and I have no idea if I’ll be good enough at taking care of her, but…” He takes a deep breath. “I love her, and I hope so.”

“I know you will be. I think Lee does, too.”

As if to either confirm or deny her mother’s suggestion, Leah chooses that very moment to let out a loud burp and spit up all down the back of his hoodie.

“Burp cloth, Ames, you forgot the burp cloth," he mutters as his wife wheezes with laughter.

 

He doesn’t bother changing his hoodie. It would take getting up and disturbing the milk-drunk baby who falls asleep on his chest minutes later, curled up like a koala bear with her mouth open, and he can’t make himself risk waking her up.

She’s a warm, comfortable weight against his ribs, in perfect height for him to kiss the top of her head if he looks down. He’s never seen anyone look quite so peaceful.

Amy leans her head on his spit-up free shoulder, snuggling into his side and holding one of their daughter’s fists in her hand, and Jake never knew his heart could grow to the size it’s doing.

 

He figures it’s for the best. If he’s going to spend the rest of his life loving the two people currently falling asleep on him with everything he has, his heart will have to perform some serious expansion.

 

(It does.)

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed and please do leave kudos and comments because just like terry, i love love!! comments which tell me specific details/quotes you loved will make me sob quietly of happiness.


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